Pink as Hell
by DemonFox38
Summary: The team arrives at a luxurious Colorado mansion to pull a weapons heist. They've got Miss Pauling dolled up as a beautiful distraction, eyes on the ballroom, a man at the wheel ready to roll at a moment's notice, and a dapper Spy ready to go to work. So, how does it go horrible wrong? Don't forget to pick up your shoes!
1. Part 1

**Pink as Hell**

* * *

This damn disguise had gotten out of hand.

Miss Pauling knew that she should have never left this task in the hands of her employees. They had no sense of practicality. All they did was buy this or that without any regards for prices. Hell, she was lucky the dress fit, for all the fuss they made about it. But this? It made her embarrassed. She felt less like a human being and more like some child's doll. If the constant bickering over cosmetic items didn't make her curious about their hobbies, this dress certainly did.

To be fair, she did need something formal. One wasn't about to strut into the Maroon Mansion, the home of one of the world's most profitable weapons manufacturers, wearing just jeans and a t-shirt. But she hadn't expected satin. Lengths of it were gathered on her hip, serving little more purpose than to flow from a fabric rose that cinched the material around her waist. The damn fabric kept catching beneath crystal-clear heels. Three layers of pearls were around her neck. She could scarcely breathe with them on. Gloves, earrings, shoes—the men had no idea when to stop. Worst of all was the strapless top that covered just a little less than she was comfortable with. She was only able to leave the base because the Engineer managed to find double-sided tape.

And most humiliating of all—it was pink.

At least they had enough sense to get her a stole for the frigid weather. She would understand where a man might not always pick up on the impracticality of stomping through snow and ice in high heels, but at least they understood that a strapless dress offered little protection against the cold breeze of Colorado's mountains. She wouldn't have to be outside for long, anyway. A black vehicle was taking them to the gates while the rest of the team got into position. It was going to be a much rougher night for them. The least she could do was suck it up and be an excellent decoy.

Adjusting her tiny earpiece, Miss Pauling prepared for a rough night. "Okay, gentlemen. Are you ready?"

The driver nodded. He was hunched over the wheel, looking like a gorilla in his small suit. "Da. Little lady, baby man make distraction. Coward Spy steals plans. Run off before alarms are raised. Easy."

The Spy was put off by the Heavy's attitude. He pulled his balaclava over the last of his chin, then growled. "Oh, yes. This will be a breeze. You all get to have a little tea party, and I have to work. I see how this is."

"Sometimes, you've just got to make sacrifices for your job," the Engineer smiled. He straightened his bolo tie, that insufferable grin failing to leave his face.

A growling voice snarled in the earpiece. "Least you wankers get to be inside all night. I've gotta sit in a snow bank while the rest of ya get cocktail weenies!"

The Engineer laughed at the sound of the Sniper's voice. "This isn't the kind of event for little smokies, Mickey."

"Call me that again, and I bloody will send you to Disneyland!" the Sniper barked.

"Gentlemen, could we try not to kill each other tonight?" Miss Pauling asked. "At the very least, save it for when we screw this up."

That brought a dark rumble out of the Heavy. "Is going to be a long night."

It was strange how the only optimistic one out of the active party was the Engineer. Usually, he was the one looking for holes in their plans. Now, he was laughing and beaming. In most situations that required fine etiquette, the Spy would have been the go-to man. As he was otherwise occupied, it had fallen to another man to create a social distraction. A man knowledgeable about weapon creation, soft with his words, unassuming in appearance. Or, rather, to be plain enough to escort the more effective social distraction.

"You realize the Scout is going to kill you when we get back," Miss Pauling said. "And the Demoman. And, to be fair, everyone else."

That didn't break the Engineer's smile. "Yep."

The limo came to a halt in front of their target's mansion. Miss Pauling gave it a quick glance over. Old money had built it. It had bold white columns and handsome red brick, balconies and large windows, the biggest of which was bent in a hemisphere around the ballroom. Standing in the front yard was a fountain of an amply-busted mermaid. Her spigots had frozen over in the cold weather. Men were lounging on the cement porch beneath the pillars. The stench of whiskey and cigarettes was strong, even through the closed limo doors.

"Charming," the Spy grumbled. "I can hardly wait to get inside."

"Move quickly, then," the Heavy ordered. "I will wait for you below."

The Engineer opened his door, allowing the Spy to escape first. He disappeared into the cold mountain air with a little help from his tools. Closing that behind him, he came around to the side facing the mansion and opened up Miss Pauling's door. He offered his hand and helped her step out. The path was quite slippery, even after salt had been put down.

She gathered the pool of satin, and they began to walk forward. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the Engineer grinned. He flexed his mechanical hand, which whirred behind his glove. "This hand 'a mine? The steel in it's got a tensile strength of over forty-thousand PSI. There's no way you're slippin' on the ice tonight."

Miss Pauling nudged the Engineer in the stomach. "Keep talking like that, and your teammates will kill you."

The Engineer didn't seem concerned. "Somehow, I'll manage to go on."

They walked up the stairs, the gang of smoking drunkards parting long enough for them to enter. Men in brown suits and white gloves ushered them inside. The Engineer fished a faked invitation out of his breast pocket, then handed it to a busy man in the foyer. The butler accepted it, then had another servant take Miss Pauling's stole. It was like stripping her last shield away. Her shoulders and collarbone felt vulnerable as they were exposed to the air.

It was easiest to blend into the bustling ballroom. Neither idled long as they entered. All sorts of slick-haired men were milling around, talking with each other as women far too glamorous for them to attract were downing champagne like they were dying in the desert. A few loud women were amongst the crowd, laughing and exchanging ideas, their equally bored escorts making doe eyes at the drunken women. Happy couples were few and far between and stood together, hips pressed against each other as they shared their tales.

"Not a lot of dancing," Miss Pauling said.

The Engineer agreed. "Bunch of roosters crowin'. You know how bright minds can be. Little bit vain, sometimes. Once they establish a peckin' order, you might see a little more action."

The Texan gave the assistant his hand again, then led her further into the room. New smells bombarded the duo. Cheap cologne, heavy perfume. A faint stench of perspiration, grease, and gunpowder. Miss Pauling could barely smell the decorative roses over the cloud of noxious fumes. Another scent reached them—the smell of hors d'oeuvres.

There was a sad sigh in their earpieces. "And you said there wouldn't be cocktail weenies."

"Good gravy! I'll make you some when we get back," the Engineer growled.

Miss Pauling had to chuckle. "At least he remembered to turn his laser sight off when he was snooping around."

The Engineer nodded, his pleasant personality returning. "Sometimes, I wonder how that man ever lived in the outback."

"What man?" a new voice boomed in their ears.

Both Miss Pauling and the Engineer snapped around. A man as short as the Engineer and as wide and hairy as a bear tromped behind them. His suit was about bursting at the seams, his round belly forcing the cummerbund out as far as it would go. He was sweaty and red, his cheeks shining and framed with wiry sideburns.

The Engineer recovered much faster than Miss Pauling. He reached out with his robotic hand and gave the man a shake. "Why! If it isn't one Doctor Sam Clayton!" He quickly introduced Miss Pauling to the strange man. "Miss Paulin', this here is one of my fellow alumni from A&M."

"Pleasure to meet you," Miss Pauling said. She offered her arm, which was promptly shaken and smudged.

"Ah, ol' Dell's a friendly fella, ain't he?" Doctor Clayton snickered. "'Course, he went straight into engineering, and I went into hoplology. Not every day the two paths cross, you know?"

Miss Pauling shook her head. "More often than you would think."

The short, grubby man wrapped an arm around Miss Pauling's shoulders. She managed not to squeak in frustration as the doctor rambled on. "I like this one, Dell! She's feisty." He picked up her left hand, then tisked at the Engineer. "And no ring! What's the matter with you, son?"

The Engineer just about choked on his own tongue. He went flushed and started stammering, "Well, Sam—I-I like her an awful lot, but—"

"I'm his manager," Miss Pauling stated.

Sam rolled his head, then nodded. "Right, right. I get it. No workplace relationships." He leaned closer to the Engineer, then whispered poorly. "Would be hard to take orders from the same woman all day, anyhow."

The Engineer whistled, then reached for his colleague's hand. He pushed it away, letting Miss Pauling slip out of his grasp. She managed not to pull a face as she got a scent of herself. Now, she reeked like that crazy man. Sure, she hated this dress, but she hadn't put it on just to have it stunk up. She folded her hands behind her back, then regained her composure.

"So, what brings you here?" the Engineer asked the strange man.

Doctor Clayton bobbed his head towards the stage. "Well, we're gonna have ourselves a little presentation of new developments in the fields of weaponry and defense. Nothin' too fancy—can't launch missiles in here, mind you. But you ought to see what our host's got cooked up."

"Can't wait," the Engineer smiled.

Of course, that was the precise reason that both Miss Pauling and Mister Conagher were standing in this elaborate mishmash of inventors and bored dates. She decided to press the enthusiastic man for information. "What have you seen of Mister Maroon's latest work?"

"Well, last I've heard, ol' Tanner Maroon's been looking down any avenue to get his sales up. Gas, chemical, hell, even electrical. He tried getting in a partnership with one Miss Marian Grey, but it sounds like she was arrested in Brisbane on hazardous chemical dumping charges. Terrible shame, that was," Doctor Clayton rambled. "Of course, Mister Maroon's trying to catch up with Monsanto's Agent Orange, but between you and me, that's a war already fought and lost."

The Engineer nodded. "It's hard to beat someone with a government contract."

The fat doctor shrugged. "The private market can always do better, son. Still, it's hard to beat all of that tax payer cash."

There was a hushed murmuring going through the crowd. To Miss Pauling's relief, it looked like Dell's old friend was finally distracted. He bowed his head, then parted ways with the duo, "If you'll pardon me, it looks like we're getting readying to show our stuff. Maybe next year, we'll have to have you on stage, Dell!"

"I'm a private man, Sam," the Engineer disagreed. "I don't care much for others lookin' at my junk."

"Your words, not mine," Sam replied.

Everyone made way as a stage was set up at the north end of the room. The Engineer and Miss Pauling kept to the back, letting the others hustled around. She sighed, then searched for a restroom. She had to wash the greasy feeling off her shoulders. There was little she could do for her gloves, but she could at least take care of her smell.

"Do you see the little girl's room anywhere?" Miss Pauling asked.

The Engineer bobbed his head to the left. "I'll block the door, if you want privacy."

"I'll be okay," she said. "Just stay here, and don't get into any trouble."

The Engineer agreed to that. "Can do."

Miss Pauling made her way to the restroom as best as she could in her ridiculous heels. She was going to have to beat whoever thought they were an appropriate kind of footwear. She pushed the bathroom door open, happy to find only one other woman in here with her. These kinds of events usually had bathrooms packed full of women, yet completely open for men.

She peeled off her gloves, then began washing off her neck. The other woman in the restroom gave two sad tuts. "Someone get handsy with you, doll face?"

"You know how some men can be," Miss Pauling sighed.

The other occupant clacked over to her side. She produced a small bottle of clear liquid. "Let me help you out."

The woman spritzed a cloud of perfume around Miss Pauling's neck and shoulders. It was pleasant—definitely better than sweaty inventor, at any rate. Light, a little spicy, complete with a touch of lavender. Miss Pauling smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the other lady replied. "Trust me—when you've been in the escort business long enough, you learn to bring your own toiletries."

Miss Pauling didn't know what to say about the assumption of her occupation. She let it slide and thanked the woman again. "I'll remember next time. Thank you."

The other woman left the restroom, her gold dress trailing behind her. Miss Pauling caught the door and let it slide free before shutting it again. She locked the knob, then went into one of the stalls and locked that as well. It didn't hurt to put as many locks between a target and herself when checking in with her men. She pressed inside of her ear, then sent a call out to her charges.

"How's everyone doing?" Miss Pauling asked.

"Freezin' my butt off," the Sniper sulked.

"Little man does not have more butt to lose," the Heavy chuckled. "Is dull here."

"All's fine out here," the Engineer murmured. "Looks like they're gonna start soon."

One critical voice did not report in. Miss Pauling waited for a moment, but there was no sound. She frowned, then knitted her eyebrows together. "Spy? Status report."

Nothing.

She rolled her head upward. Great. Nothing could ever go smoothly. Even if he was just blowing them off, she expected to hear some kind of sassy response. She could hope that he was being quiet as part of his work, but she was hardly so naïve. She reported back to the remaining men, "Be prepared. Something's up."

"Car is started," the Heavy reported.

"My eyes're on the ballroom," the Sniper stated. "Let me know if I need to open fire."

Miss Pauling sighed, then prepared to head back out. After finishing her errands, she re-entered the ballroom. The throng of people was pressed against the opposite end. She started preparing in her head as she located the Engineer. The Sniper couldn't make the clearest shot from his angle, but he could probably make it if he moved a little ways south. Exiting to the west would put them straight in the butlers' paths and mixed in with some very surly smokers. The east had a door that led directly into a frozen-over garden and a path into nearby trees. That seemed to be the clearest way to escape, but it left them vulnerable.

The Engineer welcomed her next to his side. "Feelin' better?"

"Don't think so," she replied.

The Engineer clicked his teeth. The same thoughts were going through his head. "Dagnabit."

A quiet hush came over the collected audience as presentations started. Lights were dimmed throughout the ballroom. Hired musicians took a break, overworked and underpaid for the occasion. Miss Pauling and the Engineer squeezed their way towards the front of the crowd—not so far up to be spotted, but close enough that both short people could see what was being presented.

There was a soft roll of applause as a broad-shouldered man in a brown suit and dark red tie stepped on stage. His eyebrows sported wild, curled hairs. They created fearsome arches over his eyes, like the piercing gaze of an owl. He looked down his hooked nose at his audience. A cold chill went over the crowd as the applause died out. He maintained his terrifying gaze until each and every hand went still.

"Ladies and gentlemen—welcome to my estate," the host started. He finally cracked a smile, his teeth yellowed but straight. "I have a very special surprise for you all tonight. But, first, I think we ought to have our little invention exchange, don't you?"

There was nothing a bunch of secret operatives hated hearing more than the phrase 'special surprise'. Miss Pauling and the Engineer faked a smile, but they both knew something was up. They hesitated to speak out loud about this strange turn. It could have just been a case of nerves, after all. No need to blow the Spy's cover, if he was still deep under. Not even the Sniper or the Heavy radioed back at that sound. They did the only thing that guaranteed some safety—they kept playing along.

The presentation of inventions didn't last particularly long. Each individual that flaunted their wares had two minutes at most to show their items. Most of them had brought miniature recreations of their prototypes to share. Quite a few people lost their eyebrows during the presentation. If nothing else, these mad inventors were fond of combustibles.

Several showed bombs. A few had ICBM replicas. All sorts of flamethrowers and military-grade weapons were displayed, much to the gasping of the ladies in the audience. One crazy bastard had even managed to figure out how to keep a steady flame lit on a broadsword. Dell's friend gave a presentation on aggression-promoting chemicals that he was testing on lab rats. Miss Pauling saw more slides of rats gnawing on each other's corpses than she was comfortable in viewing. It didn't do anything to lower her tension. She tapped on her earpiece, but received only grunts from men she knew were active.

She leaned over to Dell while another presenter showed off a custom machine gun build. "Heard them talk about anything worthwhile?"

"Yeah," he replied. He stopped, then realized what Miss Pauling was talking about. "Nope." He thought of another veiled line, then whispered to her. "Let me know if you've got to use the restroom again. I know how this upsets a lady's constitution."

"I can manage," Miss Pauling responded.

As the last presenter left the stage, party host Mister Maroon reclaimed the crowd's attention. Miss Pauling and the Engineer's stomach sunk again as he flashed another eerie smile. "Well, now. Wasn't that enlightening?" He clapped two gloved hands together, then began the pitch for his own presentation. "I have quite the show for you all tonight. If my servants would be so kind."

Two meaty butlers in brown suits and white gloves brought a large, rectangular box on stage. They heaved it over their shoulders, like twin Atlases carrying one coffin. They propped it upright as one more fetched Mister Maroon's contribution. It was hardly anything of particular note—just a small, black gun with orange nodes on its sight and barrel. He put it on an onstage-table as one butler placed a black boxy hunk of junk next to it.

"Gentlemen, ladies, I think we can all agree that the face of war is changing every day," Mister Maroon launched into his speech. "War is no longer fought on some barren field, across open seas, or in dirty foxholes. War has come to our hometowns. It is in our cities, in the alleyways that run perpendicular to our main streets. It reaches as far as the stars, coming to us straight through our television sets. And what do we fight for? Our families? The good of our country?"

He laughed, then emphasized a single word. "Information." Shaking one hand at his servants, he gave them an order. "Walker, Miller, if you would."

When the two butlers pulled back the cover to the large trunk, a body fell out of it. Several women and a few men shrieked. He was still alive, if his writhing was any indication. The man's hands and feet had been bound behind his back. Another gag was wrapped around his mouth. Blood was smeared down his nose and on the inside of the box's lid.

Both the Engineer and Miss Pauling flinched as the body was dragged upwards, revealing the crimson-stained visage of the Spy.

/***/

Author's Notes

Don't stop here! Keep reading!


	2. Part 2

There was a frustrated growl in their ears. There was little either person could say, but that didn't mean the man in the snow bank didn't see what was happening. "Just say when."

The booming of the proud business man was much louder. "My guests, I had more faith in you. I thought you, of all peoples, would understand the value of my information. Well, perhaps you did." He sneered, gloating. "My security caught this particular individual snooping through my business plans and blueprints. I think it's fair that I demonstrate to him what I was building. After all, it is what he was he was sent to find, wasn't it?"

"Miss Paulin'! Truckie!" the Sniper hissed. "Call the shot!"

Neither could speak. No one could sneak away from the nervous glances of the audience members and from the raptor's eyes on stage. Miss Pauling massaged her ear. It was all she could do to acknowledge the Sniper's barking. That only made the frustrated assassin more anxious. There was another snarl on the other end of their line. "Heavy. Get up here. Tell me when you're in position."

"Da," came a short reply.

Both Miss Pauling and the Engineer were transfixed with the showman on stage, much like the rest of the crowd. He had brought up the black gun, caressing its barrel with his fingertips. The action was perverse. He was taking too much pleasure in setting up the Spy's assassination. As bad as that was, having the Spy disappear and respawn elsewhere would be worse. The last thing the world needed to know about was a way to cheat death.

"This, my fellow audience members, is the DMND-BK nine millimeter. I call her the Diamondback," Tanner Maroon waxed on about his product. "I wouldn't go quail hunting with her. Observe."

He made his point with a fine little shot through the Spy's right shoulder. The Frenchman cried out. Both butlers held him upright as he rode through the pain. Miss Pauling's eyes narrowed, her gut clamping. It wasn't a fatal shot. He'd make it out, if he didn't bleed out before his rescue. There were some shrieks from unprepared escorts, but most everyone else held their cool. In fact, some seemed hungry for the Spy's bleeding flesh.

Mister Maroon shrugged off the shot. "See what I mean? It makes its point, but it's not likely to be much of a deterrent. Now, the ammo is cheap and plentiful for such a gun, making it perfect for civilian use. But, for the man looking for a powerful punch at a reduced price? That's where we turn to our friend, Mister Electricity."

The weapons dealer jammed the base of the Diamondback into the black box on the stage's table. Instantly, the weapon flashed bright blue. There was a peculiar whirring as coils inside of the weapon charged with power. When it reached maximum power, the gun hummed with an unearthly chord. Tanner drew it from its charger, then pointed it towards the ballroom windows.

"Now? I wouldn't leave the comfort of my bedroom without this," Mister Maroon snarled. "Observe."

When he opened fire, it sounded like he had ripped through the clouds of heaven itself. A blue charge tore over the heads of the audience. It blasted through the rounded glass windows, shattering panes and mulching the frames to pulp. A terrified yelp in the Engineer and Miss Pauling's ears caught them off guard. Even the Sniper had not expected such an explosion from that.

Tanner seemed pleased with himself. "Much more powerful, don't you think? Now, it's always hard to find time to charge this piece up, so I've implemented some solar technology in its base for the man on the go." He paused, then smirked. "Oh! I almost forgot. You haven't seen what this does to all organic tissue."

More screaming went up as Mister Maroon spun on his heels to face the Spy. Even his butlers backed away from the firing range. The businessman lowered his gun, then took aim. "Now, I wouldn't recommend doing this in your home. This is going to make quite a mess."

A gunshot rang out, but it wasn't from the prototype. The gun burst in its owner's hand, its energy discharging in a massive blue ball. There was little left of Tanner's right hand, other than two mangled bones from his forearms. Miss Pauling and the Engineer were the only two amongst the crowd who weren't now in a complete panic. That shot was a familiar sound—the fast, sharp blast of a bolt-action rifle.

They could barely catch the Sniper's voice in their ears as people began screaming. "Would you wankers get moving before they—bloody he—"

The rest of the Sniper's coherent words were replaced with swearing and shouting. Pops were coming from outside of the mansion. Miss Pauling chewed on her lip. Mister Maroon's security had found him! She snapped back to the Engineer's face, then pinched her nose. So much for a quiet operation.

There were more thunks onstage. The Spy had tried to squirm his way free, but was caught up once more by Tanner's guards. The man of the hour was hardly conscious. He kept cradling the stump that was once his hand, stunned by the lack of his fingers. He hadn't even begun to pick at the shrapnel sticking out of his chest. As men carried him away, more began guarding the doors and herding the audience members together. Nobody was getting out of this situation, if they had anything to do with it.

"In position," the Heavy grunted. "Now what?"

The Sniper's ragged breathing came through. "I'm pinned down, mates. I'll try to rendezvous when I can, but—crikey!" The rest of his thoughts were lost in gunfire.

Miss Pauling started formulating a plan while people ran around her. She stared upwards, trying to think straight while admiring the ornate chandeliers. Three objectives were at hand. One, she and the Engineer had to escape. Two, the Spy needed to be rescued and hauled out. Three, the Sniper had to evade his pursuers. All three objectives had to be concluded by moving towards the Heavy's position. Even he would not wait long before coming into the mansion and start tearing everything apart. She had to get them organized before three problems turned into four.

"Mister Conagher," Miss Pauling addressed the Engineer. "You can carry the Spy out, correct?"

The Engineer nodded. "Can do. Just get me to him without getting us torn apart."

She put a hand to her ear. "Mister Mundy—when you get a chance, aim for the ballroom again. Cut the lights. Heavy? Hold position. Only attack if you are under duress."

Looking around her, Miss Pauling found her friend from the bathroom. She was standing around with her mouth gaped open, her purse similarly undone. Contents flew every which way as she was bustled about. The little bottle of perfume fell to the ground, rolling away unnoticed by the crowd. Miss Pauling snatched it up before it could be crushed under panicked feet. Even something so small could be an effective weapon. She didn't take two steps before tripping on her dress again. This high-heeled thing just wasn't going to work in combat. She knelt down, careful not to bend over. With two little kicks, she took off her elaborate shoes.

Miss Pauling offered one to the Engineer. "Projectile?"

"Thank you, Cinderella," the Engineer chuckled.

A heavy snap came from above and behind the duo. More people shrieked as a glass and brass chandelier began swinging. It was lopsided, tearing away at its own supports. The Sniper's mark was true to form, as always. The damaged chandelier swung forward and caught another fixture before crashing to the ground. The massive forces waved through the rest of the lights, ripping and tearing as it went. It wasn't long before the room was coated in blue moonlight, white snow, and deceptive shadows.

The Engineer took the opportunity to strike. With one quick spin, he hurled Miss Pauling's right shoe on stage. It struck one of the butlers holding the Spy hostage in the head. The man faltered long enough for the Spy to thrash. He banged his injury shoulder into the butler, sending him crashing off stage. The other one pulled him back as he yelled in pain. The last butler grinned as he grabbed onto the hapless Spy's wrists, dragging him away with his brethren and wounded employer.

He hadn't expected a women as petite as Miss Pauling to attack him with the heel of her discarded shoe.

Her sash's fabric caught on the stairs onto the stage, ripping as she leapt onto her target. She landed on him with a clumsy grip, but held on all the same. Taking the back of her shoe, she gouged the guard in the right cheek. He threw the Spy aside, then tossed the little woman over his shoulder. She kicked upwards once. Her sharp strike hit home. Another kick knocked the butler onto his back. He lay there with eyes and mouth wide open as the Engineer came rushing up behind her. With one punch from his mechanical hand, he knocked the butler straight into Dreamland.

Miss Pauling scrambled to help the injured Spy. She tugged the gag from his mouth, then picked at the bindings around his feet. "We've got to run."

"So I've noticed," the Spy winced. He took in a sharp breath, then wriggled as Miss Pauling freed his legs.

The Engineer plucked the Spy upright. With one yank, he undid the binding around the assassin's arms. "Can you run?"

"I think so," the Spy replied. He was weak on his knees. The blood loss was starting to get to his head. "They will track me through the snow. I'm…not well."

"Everybody else? How are we doing?" Miss Pauling asked.

The Heavy's voice returned quickly. "Still in position. Much popping."

"No go here, Miss Paulin'," the Sniper huffed. "Buncha dogs. Men with rifles. I think—" There was an awkward yelp, and then a pained groan. "Nnngh—Pinned down here!"

Crap. One problem solved, another building. Miss Pauling turned back to the Spy, then gave him a quick order. "Give me your watch."

The Spy raised an eyebrow, but complied. He extended his left arm, and she undid the golden watch's clasps. As she slapped it onto her left wrist, the Engineer became concerned. "Miss Paulin'?"

"Get him out of here," Miss Pauling ordered. "Take my stole from the coat closet. Cover his wounds. I'm going to help the Sniper."

There was little time to argue. Butlers and guards were fighting against guests that were beyond their breaking points. Fistfights had broken out between overconfident poindexters and security personnel with little tolerance for this attack. Men were moving in waves outside, looking for the bastard that had wounded their employer. If they didn't act now, the Sniper was going to be ripped to shreds. If there was anything that got the Engineer moving, it was an impending threat against his teammates.

The Texan gave up. He gave one pat on Miss Pauling's shoulders before running off. "Good luck, darlin'."

A wise woman would have never run past broken windows and into the snow with no shoes. There was little else Miss Pauling could do in this situation. She had to abandon them, if she was going to gain any speed. Flipping on the watch, she darted through the frosted gardens and up to the Sniper's position. She crawled over hedges and through bushes, her dress tangling and snaring as she ran. Snow began precipitating onto her invisible face, her face pinker beneath the invisible veil than any blush.

There was a wild howl as two black shapes came bounding over white hills. Dogs. Handsome, dangerous German Shepherds. The last thing she wanted to face tonight was two well-trained dogs that were out for her blood. They stared at her, wondering about the strange shade that was moving through the snowfall. Both sniffed the air, trying to figure out what she exactly was.

Miss Pauling didn't have time to deal with them. She fished the perfume out of her dress, then threw it over the bush. It shattered on a cement sidewalk. Both dogs barked, then went after the sound. She sighed, then continued running. Hopefully, that strong scent would keep them confused for just a little while.

She pressed on through silver woods. "Mister Mundy? Status."

The howling winds answered her.

She kept rushing east, turning slightly south in her hunt. New clues brought her on his path. Boots. Blood. Her feet were freezing in his tracks, skin too soft and tender for this pursuit. The only thing keeping her from completely losing her toes was the thin layer of silky stockings around her legs. Even that was nothing compared to the brutality of the cold mountains.

Mounds that used to be men littered the forest. All screaming and popping were gone. She felt lost in a swirling wind, like a scared princess in the snarled grasp of jealous, fearsome oaks. Even nature punished her. Her feet finally began to bleed and crack. She stopped for a moment, only to rob a corpse of his boots. His shoes were massive against her tiny feet, his socks loose around her ankles, but it was all she could do to keep going.

In the swirling maelstrom of snow, within the dark heart of the woods, Miss Pauling came upon the last of Maroon's guards. Most lay still in a spiral around an ancient tree. One last, massive shadow was at its base, fists clenched around the shirt of a slumped, motionless man. Broken glasses caught a faint glimmer of moonlight. They were buried next to a splintered, bent rifle, a limp hand inches away from seeking its only salvation.

The blood in the snow set fire in her veins.

Miss Pauling reached for another guard's body, taking his pistol. It felt good, full. She strode through the blizzard's winds, snowflakes catching on her silvery disguise. The guard raised its head at the sound of oncoming crunching. He balked, then yelled. The oncoming ghost raised her gun. She fired once, peeling back into the visible realm with a creeping wave of color as a scarlet splash soaked the remaining hem of her dress.

When she was certain the man was dead, Miss Pauling pushed the guard's corpse aside. Beneath his body was the last of her men. He was pale, snow frosting his dark hair. There was an open wound in his thigh, tenderness in his face. She felt his forehead for any signs of life, then patted his cheeks. When he started patting her back, she smiled.

Miss Pauling wasted no time. As she dressed his leg wound with his scarf, she called for her men. "I have Mister Mundy. How are we doing?"

"Little men are with me," the Heavy replied.

"Think I stopped the Spy's bleedin'," the Engineer said. "Mundy? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," the Sniper called back. He coughed as cold air hit his lungs.

"Go east, and get to the south," Miss Pauling ordered as she helped pull the Sniper onto his feet. "We'll be coming from the trees."

Slowly, carefully, the little lady and the huntsman went to meet their teammates. She kept tapping on the watch, only stopping when it failed. The Sniper was eager to press on, even when his body was fighting against him. With an awkward slide, they came down a hill and into a ditch. They struggled towards the highway, coated in clumps of wet snow. There waited a vehicle with a door popped open, catching the duo off guard with bright light and warmth.

As soon as both the little assistant and the Sniper were seated, the Heavy rocketed away from the disastrous party. The Sniper slumped, his eyelids too burdened to keep open. The Spy was similarly checked out. He was buried in white, bloody fur, keeping him warm and safe. The Engineer reached back to check on the weary Miss Pauling. His smile waned when he saw the tears and blood on her dress, but it returned when he saw her shoes.

"Don't think they quite match," the Engineer joked.

Miss Pauling sighed. "I'm done being pretty tonight."

/***/

A broken man wandered the ruins of his ballroom. What was left of his hand was wrapped in thick gauze. The boisterous fire within himself was snuffed out with the blowing snow and winds. Guests had left all sorts of garbage in his home—overturned tables, broken jewelry, torn jackets. He didn't have it within himself to even frown. All he could do was stare at the ruins and wonder what in the hell had hit him.

His guards and butlers had come back from searching the area. There were tracks leading every which way. His dogs stunk of perfume. More bodies were in the woods. His mind was empty. What could he do—call the cops? There would be just as many people asking him why he had been about to assassinate an intruder in front of an audience. No, this was his own mess.

One he wasn't sure he could ever recover from.

A butler approached the crestfallen Maroon. His face had a rough gouge cut into his cheek. He would need to see a doctor, as his attempts at mending his wounds were pitiful at best. He extended his hands, then passed two small high heeled shoes to his employer. They were clear, open-toed, three inches in the back, splattered with blood.

"The woman who attacked me…" the butler said. "She wore these."

Mister Maroon took the shoes with his one good hand. They were so small. His mind began to broil as he thought about what had happened. This woman that had attacked his staff—she must have been the one that had brought that spy into his home. The one that ruined his inventions, his career, his life. His fingers clenched onto the shoes, fingernails cutting moons into their soft pads.

He nodded to himself. "I will find her."

/***/

Author's Notes

Okay, now you can stop reading.

This was for a TF2PromptFest prompt I received ("Don't try this in heels"). The story ran very long in its entirety, so I split it here in case you needed to take a breather.

I really had a blast writing this. At first, I was afraid it would come out a bit too much like the beginning of "True Lies", but I think it kind of slipped into "Cinderella" territory towards the end. Weird as that sounds. And yeah, I pretty much ripped the dress right off the Enchanted Evening Barbie doll. But, you've gotta admit—that is one beautiful dress.

Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
